All or Nothing
by Jixie
Summary: A series of snapshots- short stories and drabbles- with an overarching arc about the House of Grilka's growing family and their friends. Quark/Grilka. Post-'The Greater The Risk'.
1. Dying Wish

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine © Paramount Television

Each title includes the characters in that fic/chapter. There is an overarching story arc and fics are posted chronologically, but individual fics can be read out of context. This is a sequel to "The Greater the Risk" and follows the events of that story.

Special thanks to the magnificent SaintEpithet, an exemplary beta reader, wellspring of great ideas, and authority on Trek canon.

* * *

**Dying Wish**

Alex, Ba'el, Toq, Friends | Humor/Gen

* * *

"...there's blood all over my clothes and even in my hair. So then he wakes up and says to me: 'Tell Grilka not to marry Worf.'"

Toq and Doran barked with laughter, while Ba'el's eyes lit up in amusement.

"So I asked: 'Shouldn't you be asking me to tell her you love her?' But he says she already knows, and that I _need_ to 'tell her about Worf.'" Alexander paused. "'I _mean_ it'."

"It was good advice," Ba'el teased. "Marrying Worf is a terrible idea."

"What would you know about that?" asked Toq.

"I know that I haven't married Worf."

"G-great Fek'lhr," Doran said. "Can you im-imagine going from _Quark_ to- to _Worf_?"

"It would be relationship whiplash," Toq observed sagely.

"Honestly, I can't imagine being with either of them," Alexander said.

"I'd h-hope not. Seeing how Worf is- is your father and all."

He snorted dismissively. "You know what I mean. I love my dad, and Quark's my cha'Dich. But they're both..." He exhaled sharply. "_Yikes_."

"Do you think you might?" Toq asked suddenly, fixing Ba'el with an intense, questioning look.

"Might what?"

"Marry Worf."

Ba'el tilted her head to the side. "When Worf first came to Carraya IV, I'd never met a man like him. So... fierce and gallant." She paused. "Now I'm on Qo'noS... and I'm discovering how stiff and prudish he is."

"Hey now," Alexander came to Worf's defense. "He's _much_ better than he used to be."

"I know. _That_ is the scary part."

Alex could only shrug in defeat.

Incidentally, she'd avoided actually answering the question.


	2. Shake a Hoof

**Shake a Hoof**

Hakor, Quark, Grilka | Humor/Gen

* * *

For all Hakor's wise marital advice, it seemed he hadn't applied it to himself. From what Quark could tell, Hakor and Gorana's marriage was just as adversarial as, for example, Martok and Sirella's.

Nor, it seemed, had Grilka been inclined to follow her father's advice with her previous husbands. Quark learned more about those from Hakor than he ever did from Grilka. Her first marriage was one of impulse and passion, to some hot-blooded brute named Konmel. _That_ ended when Konmel, itching so badly for a fight during peace time, got together with some of his buddies, stole a freighter, destroyed a cruiser, and in all the small-universe ironies possible, was ultimately apprehended and killed trying to escape _Worf's_ old haunt- the one and only Enterprise-D. After that, Grilka had done an about-face and married Kozak for power.

"...as you know, Gorana was a collector of Second Dynasty textiles," Hakor said, setting the introduction to his story. "Naturally, she banished even my most docile targs from ever setting foot inside. Grilka was enlisted in a training academy shortly before she reached the Age of Inclusion, and while we could not afford to send her to a prestigious school, it was a good, honorable one."

Of course. Of _course_ it was an honorable school. Quark nodded and tried not to roll his eyes. The word had lost any meaning to him. Did Klingons have dishonorable schools?

"She was visiting home during a holiday break, and you know how young ladies are at that age. She and Gorana had the most tremendous fight. For the life of me, I cannot recall what it had been about. The very next day, Grilka brought one of my targs, maj Ho', into our suite." Hakor leaned forward, pressing his hands together. "What you must understand is that maj Ho' was a feral boar. I've never worked with another targ so wild and obstinate. As you may expect, he had mangled every last one of Gorana's irreplaceable blankets and tapestries.

"My wife was fit to kill both maj Ho' _and_ Grilka. 'She brought that beast to destroy my collection!' But I knew better. Grilka would never behave so poorly, not _my_ daughter. So I took her out into the hall and asked why she had brought that targ into our home. She was practically in tears. 'Oh father, I wanted to train him to do a trick. I've watched how you train the targs, and I wanted to teach him how to shake a hoof.'" Hakor roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. "Shake a hoof!"

Quark laughed, trying to sound genuine. It was the fourth time he'd heard this story- Hakor told it _every time_ they'd met.

It was hard to remember that he'd once been nervous about his new father-in-law. Grilka, naturally, had been unconcerned. Still, even an accepting, open minded person might take umbrage to their _only daughter_ getting into an inter-species relationship... and the Klingon idea of "open minded and accepting" could be... well...

Hakor was fine, though. He'd laughed at Quark's apprehension and insisted that Grilka was sensible and had done quite well for herself... who was he to judge?

Her mother Gorana was another story, but she'd dealt with her disappointment by avoiding them altogether. Grilka turned out to be just fine with that.

"I wish he'd stop telling that story," Grilka said after her father had left.

"It's getting old," Quark agreed.

She fixed him with a strange look. "Oh, you have no idea. Do you know what the worst part is?"

Oh no.

"I really _did_ bring that stinking, wild beast inside to get back at my mother."

"Why would you tell me that!?" Quark's face fell. "Now I still have to listen to that story- while pretending I don't know the truth!"

Grilka cackled evilly. "I needed someone to finally share my pain."


	3. Intercultural Incompetence

**Intercultural Incompetence**

Alex, Toq | General

* * *

Evening sparring practice was becoming almost a ritual. They met after dinner - a plain meal of replicated mystery meat and light warnog, befitting of the two buffoons in House Martok's rank and file.

Together Alexander and Toq could best be described as 'bad' and 'worse'.

The next few hours were an embarrassing display of bat'leths being haphazardly smashed against one another. There was enthusiasm and perseverance, but no form or strategy. Nor, it seemed, ground to be gained. If anything, Alex was a little sloppier when he trained with Toq, since he didn't need to impress anyone.

Still it was fun, and it was good exercise. Afterwards the two more or less collapsed on the ground, tired, sore, and a little dehydrated.

"Ugh," Alex groaned. "I can't wait to get a sonic shower, but I also can't wait to not get off this floor."

Toq rolled his eyes, then began anxiously scraping his poor, abused bat'leth on the tile.

"What?"

"I'm just..." Toq laughed uneasily. "I'm just glad that you're as bad at this as I am."

Alex responded with a feigned warning tone. "Hey now. It's pretty obvious that I'm at least _slightly_ less terrible."

For a few moments there was silence but for the scratching sound. Alex was thinking that any proper Klingon would've beaten some sense into Toq for mishandling his blade like that. He kept that thought to himself.

"You're really lucky, you know that?"

"Lucky?" Alex had no idea where Toq was going with this. "How?"

"It... I know it hasn't been easy for you. Everyone knows you're not 'pure', even though you look just like any other Klingon-"

"Toq, you look just like any other Klingon too."

This caused him to reach up and touch his right ear. A little attention from Dr. Crusher had 'fixed' the visible evidence of his Romulan heritage. She'd been so very professional about it.

"Yeah, _now_."

Alex realized that he'd unfailingly made a fool of himself. Yes... that was about right. Perish the thought he ever get through a normal conversation _without_ making some kind of social blunder.

"It still felt like everyone could tell we were frauds, and it was a matter of time..." Toq thought better of it and re-directed their discussion back to his earlier point. "In any event, I was just thinking, you're lucky you got to do the Rights of Ascension. I'd had to lie about it hours after learning what it even was. Doran was talking about them the other day, and it tears me up that-" He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Alex's sheepish grin. For a moment there was outrage in his eyes, but then he looked like a whipped targ.

"I _did_ end up doing the one with the pain sticks," Alex admitted. "That's the only one anyone really cares about, anyway."

"You dumb K'pekt."

"I really was. I mean, you can _do_ the Rites and not become a warrior, but you're not supposed to be a warrior if you don't do the Rites." Then, after a pause, he took that back. "No, it wasn't dumb. I didn't like my father, I didn't like Klingons, I didn't want to _be_ a Klingon- warrior or otherwise."

Toq went from scraping his bat'leth on the ground to tapping it, and shook his head. "Suppose I can sympathize with that... the hating your father part." Between his father, and the Romulan prison warden turned village leader Tokath, they accounted for at least half of his teenaged rebellion. The driving force that sent him to Qo'noS in the first place.

"But we sure showed them, right? Just look at us now!"

"We're as worthless as an empty torpedo tube," Toq said.

"A few self-sealing stem bolts short of a twin ion engine," Alex replied.

"I don't think that's an actual thing."

"As useless as a rubber D'k tahg knife."

Toq choked and laughed. "What- what even-?"

"Look, kid," Alex said, knowing full well that Toq was older than him. "It's been rough, I know. You and me, we're all mixed up. You _are_ a Klingon, you're also _not_ a Klingon. You love this place, and you kind of hate this place. If you had a choice to do anything you wanted, or be anywhere in the universe... you'd still be doing this, here."

Toq nodded in agreement.

"It's going to be fine."

"You don't know that."

"No..." Alex grinned and leaned back on his hands. "But I've got a pretty good feeling about it."


	4. Pan-Galactic

**Pan-Galactic**

Quark, Alex, Worf | General

* * *

There were hangovers, and then there was… this.

"Vault… of… Eternal… Destitution. I feel like I snorted Ventrusian cocaine off of Gul Dukat's taint."

Both Worf and Alexander winced as they looked up from their raktajinos. Partially from the pain of hearing _any_ noise, even at Quark's hoarse barely-above-a-whisper volume. And partially from the nightmarish mental image he'd just given them.

"…Or like Kira beat my skull in with a brick of gold-pressed latinum wrapped in a lemon peel." He made a sour face. "Blessed Exchequer, everything _still_ tastes like lemons…"

"What are you doing here?" Worf's tone was too tired and burned out to be impatient.

"Blacked out on the floor in waste extraction," Quark replied frankly. Then he glanced down at his shirt. "I don't think this is _my_ blood… _or_ puke, either…"

"What in the hell was in that drink, anyway?" Alexander asked.

"Trade secret." Then he shrugged. "Mostly Old Janx Spirit and Arcturan Mega-gin. A _lot_ of Janx Spirit."

Quark poked around for a bit, looking for his misplaced jacket and waistcoat. He didn't offer to help clean the wreck that was Worf's suite, but out of reflex he picked up and straightened things out as he went along.

"Wait," Alex said abruptly. He patted his chest and looked down. "I'm wearing your vest."

"Waistcoat," he corrected wearily, as Alexander struggled out of the too-small top. "Look, I'm going home. Let me know if you come across my jacket, please." Then he caught the look in Alex's eye as he took the clothes. With an exasperated sigh, he continued. "Okay, I'll bite. What'd I do?"

"Nothing," came the all too quick reply.

"You were very emotional and wept for hours," Worf said.

Quark gave Alexander an intense, scrutinizing look. "You tell me, I don't remember any of it."

"Oh, it was mostly about Grilka, how great she is, how much you love her, you don't deserve her, that kind of thing. It was pretty sweet, actually."

"You _don't_ deserve her," Worf muttered, a little too loudly.

"…And some stuff about how much you miss Odo, that he was the best friend you ever had." Alex crossed his arms in mock indignation. "Really? _Odo?_ Here I thought _I_ was your best friend."

"Phhhhfffft. I don't even like you," Quark teased as he waved his hand dismissively, then fixed Alex with another hard stare. "What else?"

"What makes you think there's anything else?"

"That _look_ you had—"

Unlike his son, Worf was not inclined to dodge the issue. "There were some very private details about how your apprenticeship on Ferenginar ended."

Quark startled, before putting up a masked look of indifference. "It was just trash talk on Sub-nagus Tadge. Whatever I said was a bunch of hooey."

But Alexander was not convinced.

"Have… you ever talked to Ezri or someone about—?"

"There's nothing to talk about," he insisted.

"That's not what you said last night," Worf pointed out.

"I was completely _out of my skull_ last night."

This earned a stern look from both Klingons.

"You should talk to Ezri," Alex pressed. "About that stuff there's 'nothing to talk about', and what happened to those Bajoran kids with the mining equipment."

"Wh— I went on about the _Cardassians_ too?" Quark blanched, and hid his face in his hands. Even bringing it up now made him queasy— no one deserved to die like that. "Ugh. That's it, I'm laying off the sauce." Then, dismissively: "Let— let me know if you find my jacket." He quickly made a beeline for the door.

Alex rubbed his temples. 'Beat with a latinum brick' had been an apt description. "I think I was the one who barfed on him," he admitted shamefully to his father.

"No," Worf corrected him. "It was Toq you vomited on."

* * *

A/N: 1. I've already evoked the likes of Jane Austin and Shakespeare in this horrible garbage scow ship series, so I figured, might as well reference the greatest writer there ever was. RIP, Douglas Adams.

2\. The next three fics / chapters are bawdy humor along the lines of the innuendo that's in this series, nothing graphic, but some are slightly racier than usual. So if you want to skip that, please jump to Chapter 8 "Interlude: Tumbling" featuring Ezri, or Chapter 9 "Vow of Silence" featuring Leeta and kicking off the 'Klingon/Ferengi Hellspawn' arc.


	5. Justification

**Justification**

Grilka, Othrod | Ribald Humor

* * *

"I do not understand what you see in him." There was a strong streak of contempt in Othrod's voice.

Before they'd married, she'd wanted Quark to learn how to hold a grudge against those who wronged him. Love had a way of softening rough edges though, and it was Grilka who'd adopted a more freely-forgiving nature. Which was why, ultimately, she'd made peace with Othrod.

He'd become a grateful ally to House Grilka, but he still wasn't very fond of Quark. Like Worf and Sirella before him, the Ferengi would eventually wear him down… but they weren't there, not yet.

Almost every last person Grilka knew had questioned her marriage at some point or another. For those she respected, she gave the long version. For those like Othrod, she found the short version was a quick, decisive conversation ender.

"The sex is _quite_ to my liking," she told him. "I have developed some… unusual tastes. While Klingon men are too proud to sully themselves by—"

His face fell. "I may have spoken out of turn.

"Oh, don't be coy, Othrod. Surely you've wondered. The Ferengi are completely debase, there's _no_ depths—"

"Please, Lady Grilka. I apologize."

She punched him in the shoulder. "I hope it gives you nightmares."


	6. Cream of Hipecat

**Cream of Hipecat**

Quark/Grilka | Ribald Humor

* * *

The hipecat cream had an almost nutty, subtle earthy taste. It layered nicely with her own delicious piquance.

For a half-second, he wondered how offended Moogie would be if she knew what they'd been using the cream for. _That_ was a mistake. Because immediately the thought occurred to him: she was probably using it the same way. The regrettable, unwanted image of Ishka and Zek going at each other like a pair of crazed voles popped into his mind.

It was an instant mood killer.


	7. Concessions

**Concessions**

Quark, Grilka, Kira | Ribald Humor

* * *

Quark bounded down the steps two at a time, jacket disheveled from Holosuite activities.

Captain Kira glanced up from her drink, half hoping he'd fall the rest of the way.

"Grilka my dear," he greeted her enthusiastically as he took the seat at the table next to her. Then offering Kira a quick nod: "Hey Nerys."

"I can't understand how you can let him get away with all that…" she pulled a face, with the kind of look you got after accidentally biting into spoiled food. "…that Holo-smut."

"Surely you've fantasized about one lover while you were with another," Grilka replied.

Kira sputtered in protest, but her furious blushing told a different story.

"I don't see how the Holoprograms are any different. It's all pretend." Then she grinned deviously. "Besides, for all the talk of 'Vulcan Love Slave', most of my husband's favorite programs are quite esoteric."

"Eyebrows," Quark said warningly.

"Like the armless Betazed who dresses herself using her feet."

Quark blanched, ghastly pale, before flushing beet-red. "Grilka…!" It was hard to tell who was more appalled, Kira or Quark.

"Or the Ferengi pirates ear mutilation one."

There was a panicked moment of scrambling as Quark threw himself off the chair, and grabbed Grilka, slapping a hand over her mouth. Then screamed and jerked back when she instinctively bit him.

Kira stared, completely gobsmacked… and a little frightened… and _definitely_ filled with regret.

With a small whimper of absolute horror she half slid, half fell out of her chair. "I think I'm going to be sick," she said, overwhelmed by the need to be anywhere— _anywhere_ but here right now.

Grilka was wrapping Quark's bleeding hand with a napkin as she tried to reassure him with Klingon non-apologies.

Quark sighed as they watched the Bajoran make a hasty retreat.

"You know she's never going to let us set foot on the station again after this, right?"

* * *

A/N: Why can't I stop writing really weird gross raunchy stuff involving Quark. There's something seriously wrong with me. Send help. Or fic prompts. IDK anymore.

Next week back to general friends and family wholesomeness.


	8. Interlude: Tumbling

**Interlude: Tumbling**

Ezri Dax/Sonya Gomez | Introspective / Romance

* * *

Ezri used to think that becoming host to a symbiont had been the biggest curve ball that life had thrown her. When she really thought about it, though— _really_ meditated on it, it was hard to untangle just how much her life had gone off course because of Dax… and how much of it had been Deep Space Nine… and how much of it had been the Dominion War.

To be fair, the latter two were a direct side-effect of Dax.

In many ways moving on to the USS Enterprise was about taking back the reins and making her life her own. In other ways, is was an escape from the sometimes oppressive drama that seemed to permeate Deep Space Nine. It wasn't even the station's fault— it was centrally located amid an occupation and then a war and now a passageway to another quadrant. Drama was the only option.

The Enterprise, however, was cavorting around space. They would tumble into one adventure and then slip out just as easily, and right after that they'd jump into the next thing. It was fun. It was refreshing. _She got to be the ship counselor_. Dax's depth of experience gave her an incredible resource to draw from. When she first arrived, Ezri found others negatively compared her to the incomparable Deanna Troi: how could the Trill ever measure up to an empath? As time went by, however, the comparison changed to a positive one: the unique differences that the symbiont's history and knowledge brought to the table, and how it contrasted to the Betazoid.

There were many other things she loved about the Enterprise, of course. No one could ever replace the captain-shaped hole in her heart that Sisko had left, but Captain Picard… That guy was the epitome of Starfleet itself.

And then, of course…

"I had a dream about us," Sonya said. She grinned and swept back her unruly hair as Ezri took a seat next to her in Ten Forward.

Honestly, truly, sincerely, Ezri had intended to put a moratorium on dating when she left Deep Space Nine. And she had. For a couple weeks. Then Lieutenant Sonya Gomez had come through like a cheerful and overly enthusiastic whirlwind, and Ezri went tumbling into another adventure.

"What kind of dream?"

"Well… you know… a wedding." Her eyes lit up with excitement. "It felt almost prophetic. We were on Andor, and," her speech was rapidly accelerating as she carried on. She was in the middle of describing— in great detail— this beautiful winter scene.

"Woah," Ezri interrupted. "Woah, hang on a second there. A prophetic dream?"

She stopped dead, alarmed by Ezri's panicked look. "What? Oh, not like that. I mean, it was a regular dream. It's just that I've been thinking about the future, our future, and what direction it was going in, and Guinan had said that Andor is the most scenic when it's at this phase of orbit, which made me think about how nice a destination wedding would be and how winter is my favorite season and you had said you'd like to visit there someday, and a wedding on Andor would be so beautiful and when you told me the other week about losing your grandma's ring I thought that was a hint you were going to propose—"

"Why should I be the one to propose?" Ezri asked. She was kind of teasing, but also kind of not.

"Oh! Oh, no reason, I just, um. Ezri, are you okay?"

"You know I started dating Julian after a 'prophetic dream'." She paused, looking over to her right at the window to the stars. Ezri ran her thumb over the lip of her mug before taking a sip of her raktajino. She'd never had one before Deep Space Nine, and it was such a small, small thing, but the raktajinos on the Enterprise just didn't taste as good.

That's what she thought, every time she needed a little pick-me-up. That tiny pang of 'good, but not quite as good'. Over a stupid beverage.

Sonya reached over and took Ezri's free hand. "It wasn't like that. Anyway, you guys are still friends! Considering how things are with some of my ex's, believe me, it could've been a lot worse."

Which was true. It also could've been a lot better.

It could've worked, instead of failing to thrive.

They could've been happy, instead of wasting those years.

She could've felt like she didn't have to leave the station to get control of her life.

"You know my parents always wanted me to marry a doctor," she grumbled under her breath.

"Huh?"

Then she shook her head. "Don't mind me, I'm just… ugh, dredging up all these unresolved feelings."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, sorry." Sonya leaned forward and hugged her around the shoulders.

"No, no, I should be the one apologizing. You're right to be thinking about 'our future' and what that means, and it's definitely something we need to discuss more." Instead of just letting themselves stay in a comfortable routine of loosely defined commitment. Like she and Julian had, until talk of marriage sparked the catalyst, making them realize that it wasn't mean to be. "You better get going, Sonya, or they'll start calling you 'Broccolietta' over in Engineering."

"I know, I know. See you 'round, mi alma."

As she stood, Sonya managed to trip over the leg of her chair, stumble, and fall onto one of the hapless ensigns at the next table over. Ezri jumped up and hurried to her side, helping the both of them get untangled and up off the floor.

Then she grinned. How ridiculous was it that she was sitting there, fretting over the 'woulda, coulda, shoulda' of the past, when 'will, can, shall' was right here? Sonya, with her unfiltered stream of conscious, with her infectious unfailing optimism, who more importantly knew her limitations and had a sense of humility and understood that a relationship was about two people being more than the sum of their parts…

The feeling in her gut— Dax— no— _Ezri_— had once told her to _move on_, and was now telling her _stay_.

"Marry me."

Sonya stole a quick kiss and squirmed out of her grasp, waving as she headed for the door. "I'm going to be late for my shift."

"Wait, is that a yes?"

"Yes!" she called over her shoulder, and then she was gone.

* * *

"Oh _thank the prophets_," said Kira, when Ezri called her with the news. "I needed some teeth-rotting cuteness to restore balance to the universe."

"What?"

"You didn't hear? …the Alpha-quadrant's grossest couple are going to reproduce."

Ezri did a double take. There were a lot of thoughts there, but she went with the first one that popped into her head. "Huh. That's going to be one confused child."

* * *

A/N: Whoops took a Trill detour. [Ensign] Sonya Gomez is the excitable new recruit from TNG who was flirting with Geordie for a bit. You know, the girl who accidentally dumped hot cocoa onto Captain Picard.


	9. Vow of Silence

**Vow of Silence**

Grilka, Quark, Leeta | General

* * *

"Soooooo, have you guys picked out a name yet?" Leeta was trying to contain her excitement, and failing.

"Kurgan," Grilka replied.

"Ferdosha," Quark said.

There was a brief pause as they looked at each other uneasily.

"That is the most Ferengi-sounding name you could come up with."

"And? Kurgan is the most Klingon-sounding name _you_ could come up with."

Leeta quickly realized she'd just stepped into a minefield.

She looked off to the side, her attention caught by something off-screen. "What was that?" She glanced back to the couple. "Sorry, Uri'lash is calling me, it sounds important. I'll catch you later!"

Her hologram flickered and disappeared.

"I thought you said those Hupyrians take a vow of silence."

"They _do_."

"That sneaky little Bajoran…"

"Who does she think she is, anyway?"

* * *

A/N: Kurgan is an excellent name for a Klingon.


	10. Doctor's Orders

**Doctor's Orders**

Grilka, Bashir | Feels

* * *

"Raktajino?"

Grilka graciously accepted the drink from Julian, in need of both the comforting familiarity and the caffeine boost it provided.

"I thought your shift didn't start for a few more hours," she said.

He nodded as he awkwardly sat down on the floor across from her. "I'm just checking in as a friend."

The disparate gestational periods between Klingon and Ferengi meant that they'd had to transport her unborn child to an artificial womb. She'd been resistant to the idea at first, and with treatments and monitoring was able to soldier on for a full eight months— a month longer than any Klingon pregnancy would last— before placental failure and decreased amniotic fluids left them with no choice.

Everything had gone swimmingly, and both mother and child were in good shape. Nevertheless, Grilka refused to leave the infirmary.

"You really should go and get some rest," he told her, his tone gentle but firm.

She sat cross-legged on the floor besides the incubator. Quark was curled up next to her, fast asleep. He'd been content to let the Federation Doctors _do their damn job_, but stayed to support her.

Grilka sipped the raktajino and said nothing.

"We're not exactly set up for extended visitations. You've been through some serious physiological stress, you really need to get some sleep— in an actual bed."

"I was not present when my first child died. I do not intend to repeat that mistake, should _this one_ take a turn for the worse."

Frustrated, Julian pulled a face. She knew that these were two completely different scenarios, and that the first accidental pregnancy had been doomed from conception.

"I assure you, _this one_ is going to be just fine."

"You are a pompous jackass to assume such a thing."

"Perhaps, but I'm also right."

An uneasy pause followed, before Grilka finally admitted: "I can't leave. I can't bear to do it."

"You know I could have you transported out of here; Doctor's orders. Or hypo you. Or drug your drink."

"But you won't."

He sighed. No, he wouldn't.

Instead, he stayed with her on the uncomfortable Infirmary floor, chatting about the politics on Qo'noS and how things were going on Bajor and whether or not he'd go to Ezri's wedding, until his shift came.


	11. Songs of Valor

**Songs of Valor**

Grilka, Quark, Bashir | Humor

* * *

"There'll be a little pin prick. She's going to cry," Bashir explained for the hundredth time, carefully walking through what they were testing for, and what was involved.

Grilka nodded, then smiled at the infant in her arms. "Her first blood-letting," the Klingon said matter-of-factly.

He tried not to show how nervous he was. Julian acted quickly, and sure enough the baby started squalling. It was the sort of thing that could set off even the most peaceful Bajoran, but Grilka was perfectly calm, and bounced and crooned at her daughter to calm her. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding, and stepped back.

Of course, he'd been so concerned about any potential repercussions from a protective Klingon mother, that he _completely_ failed to notice that the Ferengi father had jumped up and rushed him.

"You _INDIGENT!_"

Which sounded perfectly ridiculous in English, but was an incredible insult in Ferii.

Bashir looked over just in time for Quark to clock him right in the nose.

The silly epic ballad Alexander wrote about the time Quark walloped Dr. Bashir would end up being their daughter's favorite song. It was the _only_ one she'd allow for her night-time lullaby. They grew to loathe it.


	12. Petrichor

**Petrichor**

Ensemble | General

* * *

House Grilka was in chaos, but it was an exciting, wonderful chaos. The sort of chaos that comes from bringing home a newborn baby.

Whatever lingering doubts Quark had about Klingon maternal instinct had been thoroughly quashed. Parenting was a challenge, of course, but it was one that Grilka rose to admirably.

So too was the anxiety about bonding with their _female_ child. Quark's own parenting abilities would turn out to be more of a mixed bag… some things came naturally, while in other aspects he was a complete mess.

Grilka's mother, Gorana, moved in for a few months to help with the baby— until the time came to hire a ghojmoK. Both of her parents had stayed loyal to the House of Konjah, even after Grilka was the head of her own House. Hakor took the time to visit them whenever he was on-planet, but Gorana… she hadn't spoken to Grilka since— well, since Quark came into the picture.

She coped with the fact that her son-in-law was Ferengi by absolutely refusing to acknowledge him. He'd never seen a Klingon act so passive-aggressive, but there was a first time for everything. Gorana wouldn't even say his name or species, and if she _absolutely_ couldn't avoid mentioning Quark, at best he was 'the child's sire', at worst 'that clod'.

The mental gymnastics she did to accomplish this were hysterical. Quark was way too amused to be offended.

Grilka didn't find it nearly as funny. Her relationship with her mother was not great to begin with, so having Gorana around was more than little stressful for her. _But_ 'Grandma' took the graveyard-shift… ultimately, a full nights sleep outweighed the vexation of having her in the house.

What surprised them was Sirella.

"_Ohhhhhhh!_" she squealed— yes, _squealed_— in delight. "She's hideous! I've never seen such an ugly baby!" Apparently Sirella had some kind of hopeless fixation on homely children, or something, because she was utterly captivated. She visited daily, under the guise of supporting her friend, and was so smitten that for a while Grilka started getting paranoid that Sirella would kidnap her. So much for 'crumbling the very foundations of our Klingon heritage'.

Things devolved into regular, ulcer-inducing chaos when Rom and the rest of his immediate family came to visit. The sort of chaos that comes from having another four Ferengi— one of which was _Zek_—, a Bajoran, and a pair of rivaling Hupyrians all running amok on Qo'noS. Klingons on Ferenginar had been bad, _this_ was an unmitigated disaster.

But that's another story.


	13. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

Sisko, Grilka, Quark, monster toddler | General

* * *

Benjamin Sisko had returned.

Knowing that he'd be swamped by friends and family from all over the quadrant, Grilka wisely convinced Quark to wait a couple months before they went to visit, allowing the Captain to settle in and spend some time with his loved ones.

The downside was that her husband only grew more excited over the course of the wait.

Once they arrived on Deep Space Nine, Grilka watched with amusement as he started getting worked up. Quark _heard_ Sisko long before they saw him: the unique individual symphony of respiration, heartbeat, and peristaltic sounds, combined with Sisko's distinct footsteps. The Ferengi was shaking by the time they were face-to-face with the Captain.

"How nice it is to see you again—"

Sisko smiled warmly as he extended his arm for a handshake; Quark ignored any pretense of decorum and threw his arms around him in a bear hug. Ben laughed, gracious and charming as ever.

"I take it you missed me."

Once he'd escaped Quark's grasp, Grilka shook his hand, clapping his shoulder with her free hand.

Sisko's face lit up ask he looked at the apple-cheeked toddler clinging to Grilka's skirt, and he knelt down for a closer look. "You must be Reva."

The Klingon-Ferengi hellspawn shrieked as she threw a carefully-aimed punch at his groin.

* * *

A/N: When you think about it, Grilka and Quark's monstrous little shit child punching Sisko in the goolies is the perfect ending for this series. It's been a fun ride. Thank you for reading. :)


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